


Requiem for an Apocalypse

by PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Crazy Magical Bullshit, Fantasy AU, M/M, Sorcerer & Apprentice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 23:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14904488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess/pseuds/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess
Summary: [Fantasy AU] Sorcerer Merasmus has been assigned an apprentice to lure to the darker side of magic.He was definitely not expecting to find Jane 'Soldier' Doe on his doorstop, nor cope with any of the chaotic occurrences that the magically-enabled military man brought into his home, workspace and life. Though sometimes... even the craziest change, is for the best.





	Requiem for an Apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AShinyTurquoise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AShinyTurquoise/gifts).



> For AShinyTurquoise, hope you like it.

 

Had Merasmus been apprised of exactly what taking on an apprentice would entail, it was highly unlikely that the sorcerer would have agreed to willingly signing up for such torment in the first place. Oh certainly, the apprentices in the brochures were all cherub-cheeked young men and women just waiting to be corrupted by the arcane forces that thrived in the darker corners of the world. 

 

The lure of power, the seduction of dangerous deals with demons and their kin, the chaotic energy of a well-brewed potive… these were the things he, and those other accomplished sorcerers of this world, were supposed to teach the younger generation of adept magic-wielders and future world dominators. Certainly he had anticipated a challenge; none of the approached were given an indication as to whom they had been assigned, but Merasmus had simply assumed either he would one of two potential types of apprentice. Either some young innocent who needed guidance to the darker side of life, their morales seduced away by dreams of dominion and wealth… or a natural prodigy who simply needed their inherent talent honed to achieve their goals. 

  
  


Jane, though…

Nothing on hell or earth could have prepared Merasmus, immortal sorcerer and wielder of the bombinomicon itself, for Jane Doe. 

 

He had arrived like a lightning bolt from the blue; and looking back now, Merasmus wondered if he should have shut the door in the mortal’s face. However, that was the curse of hindsight, knowing the exact second when you sealed your fate… and being utterly unable to change it. No matter how many spells you used, timelines you try to wipe, or demons you begged for a deal. The past tends to stay as it was, and always would be. 

 

Thus the reason why Merasmus found himself with a throbbing headache, sitting in the rubble of what was once the kitchen in the only remaining intact chair… bottle-feeding a baby racoon. Well, perhaps the exact circumstances were not entirely linear enough for a casual observer to discern how this had all come to pass, but the entire mess of the past year and a half of his life seemed to be flashing before Merasmus’ eyes. And it was all thanks to that fateful day he answered the door…

 

~)0(~

  
  


Within three days of his new apprentice’s arrival, Merasmus had known for certain that his life would never be the same again; no matter how many centuries the sorcerer survived. Assuming he made it through the week, that is.

 

Jane ‘Soldier’ Doe, as Merasmus had come to realise over the course of their brief cohabitation, was an enigmatic whirlwind of reckless curiosity and impractical natural ability. The man could inadvertently summon dragons by thinking about roasting meat for a meal, switch his outfits without realising, or summon objects from a great distance… though without the subtlety of conscious spellcasting that would have seen the items able to navigate objects such as, say, castle walls. He’d even caught Soldier having an inadvertent conversation with a wrath demon once, chatting away about the tactical logistics of honey on the battlefield or somesuch other tomfoolery… either utterly unconcerned or aware that he was not speaking to another human. 

 

Well, Merasmus had supposed it was generally the latter. Soldier, as his preferred moniker suggested, was a military man of some years whose magical abilities had manifested chaotically enough that the higher ups had seen fit to reassign him; despite this, Jane still considered himself on active duty, and refused to remove his helm on most occasions. Merasmus had even caught him sleeping in it, and would not be surprised if he bathed in the blasted thing as well. 

 

Ah well, sorcerers did tend to be on the more eccentric side… and Merasmus couldn’t really cast any aspersions, given he was quite fond of enveloping robes and an impressive ram’s skull adorning his head. No matter, fashion concerns were the last of their problems.

Raw talent usually manifested within the younger generations more readily, making them far easier to train and infinitely more malleable. Yet, cases such as Jane did occur, infrequently… and often tended to be far more dramatic, dangerous and chaotic.

 

All of this, Merasmus knew on a highly personal level. 

It had been a surprise to be entrusted with a newly-awakened apprentice of advanced age; not that Jane was aged and infirm, no, he was most likely closing in on his fourth decade but no more than that. Clearly the Magus council either held Merasmus in high esteem, or this was punishment for some misdemeanour in centuries past he could not recall… he had chosen to assume the former, only because it suited his ego better.

 

From the very second he had invited the mortal into his household, Merasmus had known his organised world would be forever changed. If anything, Jane was at least a considerate houseguest -accidental magical outbursts and summonings aside, that is. Often making an effort to do the dishes, or cook them at least one of the daily meals, and most importantly, to wear at least undergarments when he was searching for a midnight snack. Merasmus had seen  _ far _ too much of Jane’s own  _ magic wand _ in the past two nights than he had ever assumed to. 

 

In all honesty, Jane was his first apprentice and it had been uncountable eons since he had been one himself, so the dynamic of student and teacher had not begun on solid footing. There had not exactly been significant time to craft lesson plans or anything of that nature, mostly the past few days had been teaching rudimentary techniques to curb unconscious uses of magic… meditation and the like. Not exactly something the man was naturally inclined toward. Nor was silence, it seemed. If the man’s voice was any louder, he would be heard clearly right across the oceans…

 

However, in a moment of clarity, Merasmus had an epiphany as to a more suitable method of curtailing the chaotic energies that seemed to surround Soldier. As a physical being, a military man who was used to using brawn over brains, it only stood to reason that perhaps performing repetitive tasks or movements would have a similar effect to meditation.    
Enchanting a few straw dummies and suits of armour to fight against his new pupil was hardly worth the flick of the fingers it took; but considering just how much of his household it saved, the action was at least partially merited. 

 

Who would have thought that a few push-ups a day would stop him having to extinguish his drapes?

  
  


~)0(~

 

“HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU NOT TO SPEAK LATIN IN FRONT OF THE BOOKS?!” Merasmus shrieks, exasperated to the point of hysteria as another of his ancient tomes begins to spew lava onto the floor. With a snap of his bony fingers, the flow stems itself, but the damage to his floor is already rather extensive. 

Pity… Merasmus loved that rug. 

 

“Sorry Merasmus, I just thought if I said the word slowly it wouldn’t catch fire this time!” Soldier apologised, not looking all that chagrined in the scheme of things. It would be a tad more sincere were Jane not wearing a wide grin, that denoted his delight at this turn of events, on his ruggedly handsome face.

 

Speaking of wearing inappropriate things…

 

“Jane, why are you-… no, for  _ what purpose _ , are you wearing the apprentices’ cap atop your helm like that?” queried the sorcerer, suddenly unable to focus on anything else despite the chaotic scene. “You could just… wear the hat, instead of your helmet… or is this a fetish thing? I don’t know what kind of kinky tomfoolery you mortals get up to these days…”

 

The book clattered to the floor as his apprentice’s head snapped towards him, eyes so wide in surprise by the strange line of questioning that Merasmus could almost actively see them under the helmet. Hmmm, what a curious shade… like little blue flames, how interesting.

 

“This helmet is a symbol of my commitment to the red-blooded people of this land, that I will serve and protect until the day I die heroically!” Soldier responded, pure patriotism dripping from his booming voice. Merasmus half expected the man to salute. 

 

“Yes, yes, very good. A perfect little wind-up soldier aren’t you?” Merasmus sighs, then frowns. “As for the whole heroic death thing you’re clearly imagining… that might be a tad more difficult to achieve than you imagine. Considering I’m relatively sure you’ve been devouring the various potives and pills in my medicine cabinet since you got here, that’s rather unlikely… speaking of which, stop eating my ‘what kills you makes you stronger’ medication. I need that!”

 

“I do not know what you are talking about, but I completely understand and will refrain from doing that thing I don’t recall doing. At all.” Soldier responds, grinning broadly in manner that clearly told all who beheld it that Jane was unlikely to adhere to that particular request. Ah, such an aggravatingly invigorating disaster of a man.

 

Wait,  _ invigorating _ ? Well, Merasmus supposed that even given the active degree of chaos that seemed to enshroud the man at all times, and how loud he tended to be, one could not deny that Jane Doe cut a highly aesthetically pleasing figure. You know, for a mortal, that is. And those eyes… well, that had been a surprise. Pleasant. 

 

At least there would be an upside to having an apprentice, even if Merasmus did feel somewhat lecherous noticing those details; sure Soldier wasn’t some fresh-faced youth, but at the same time… he was several centuries older than the other. Though, to be quite fair to the sorcerer, Soldier rarely had any compunctions about wandering about displaying his… natural gifts. Honestly, sometimes Merasmus was starting to question if Jane comprehended how clothing worked, or if perhaps he simply forgot at times that polite society required certain sights remain unseen in the public eye. 

 

Fah! Merasmus physically waved a hand to disseminate such silly thoughts from his mind. Even were they not teacher and apprentice, such thoughts were highly inappropriate and merely a bothersome obstacle to their future learning relationship. Besides… who would want a decrepit old sorcerer anyway?

 

Sighing, and feeling his age more than ever before in the presence of such young, untamed magic, Merasmus set about enchanting nearby household cleaning items into dealing with the remnants of his rug. Not once realising that the scintillatingly blue eyes that had so shocked and surprised him earlier… were watching his every move.

 

~)0(~

 

“You really need to stop treating them like pets, Jane, they’re the souls of the damned bound to my servitude.” Merasmus muttered offhandedly, stirring a vial of lizard blood into the cauldron, and watching Soldier’s antics in his periphery. Oh, it wasn’t doing any harm… but there was something about hearing his apprentice talk to the agonised shades of former evil doers as if they were a fluffy puppy that really came off as quite bizarre. Especially when he told them to ‘come to daddy’ in that baby babble voice; he nearly threw up into their lunch. 

 

“But Merasmus, they’re very friendly! And corporeal or not, they are all proud citizens of this land which entitles them to respect and all the affection this patriot can provide!” Jane retorts, brimming with passion as he pats a ghoul on the head. Or at least, tries to. The attempt appeared appreciated. 

 

“Don’t you need to go and do your meditation exercises?” Merasmus asked, wondering if he would ever get this meal ready with all the commotion in his kitchen. He’d already had to substitute at least three ingredients because  _ someone who will not be named _ was using them as treats with the supernatural beings loitering around the castle. Endearing, and altruistically intended, but ultimately bothersome when one was trying to make a nice soup.

 

Soldier rises, stretching to work out the kinks one acquired from kneeling on a cold stone floor for any extended period of time petting ghosts, ghouls and various small species of demons. Merasmus winced at the far too audible popping of joints and bone, there were some sounds one could not become immune to despite many countless years on this earthly plane. 

 

Jane makes a show of straightening the precariously placed apprentice’s cap from the jaunty angle it had assumed atop the ever-present helm, and threw a rather… knowing look, from at the sorcerer. “Of course Merasmus, you can never train enough! I mean,  _ Meditate _ , enough!” he added jovially, yanking off his shirt without toppling his headwear in what can only be extreme skill or divine intervention. 

 

“Yes, yes, out you go…” Merasmus shooed, stirring the bubbling concoction with an almost absurd degree of concentration. Adding a pinch of gargoyle essence and some hot sauce with practiced ease, as he waited for his apprentice to leave.

 

Which was why he nearly jumped out of his skin when Jane’s voice suddenly spoke again, just as he had thought the other man gone. “Merasmus? Don’t let lunch burn while you’re watching me meditate through the window… it is important that a true soldier maintain their nutrition with regular meals. Even if it is tempting and tactically advantageous to assess your apprentice’s… technique!”

 

Merasmus was silent for a long moment after Jane left the room, regulating his breathing and trying not to disclose his shock and embarrassment at having been caught by his apprentice. Like some peeping tom, peering through the curtains. At his age, he should be ashamed…

On the other hand, it brought to mind the reality that Soldier was not as oblivious as he pretended to be… he had noticed. What else had he noted with those keen, well-hidden eyes of his? 

 

Merasmus swore, frantically stirring the soup a moment longer as his mind raced… then left it to burn as desire won out over common sense. Oh dragonballs, he may be a weak-willed peeping merasmus after all, but who could blame the sorcerer? Reason and shame tended to flee when Jane removed his shirt…

 

They spent their days in a careful dance from then on. Jane politely pretending not to notice the way Merasmus looked after him like a parched vampire happening upon a radiant youth in their prime; and Merasmus remained utterly oblivious, in his own personal persecution over the lechery, to the way Soldier watched him back in a far more than comradery manner.

 

It had resolved in a far more ridiculous manner than either had intended, and yet… at least it cleared the air. 

 

~)0(~

  
  


Merasmus found himself having to console the other man after explaining that sorcerers do not, in fact, ride broomsticks like witches. Which was something the other had clearly been meaning to inquire about for some time; and seemed quite crushed by the lack of such frivolities in their magical lives. With a sigh, knowing his will was weakening with every second he spent in the presence of a miserable Soldier, Merasmus had promised to enchant one of the household brooms for flight.

 

His stipulation of ‘ _ Only outdoors, for the love of all that crawls in the shadows, only outdoors _ ’ was of course, adhered to only for the first few seconds. Soldier zoomed through the castle’s ancient winding hallways, and out through windows before darting back in, letting out what could have been a delighted whoop that one might easily have mistaken for a warcry. 

The delight Jane exuded was infectious, and even left Merasmus aching to try; it had never occurred to him to travel by something as rudimentary as an enchanted _ broom _ . Levitation was a basic skill, for if you felt the need to glide over a physical obstacle; and teleportation was, of course, must faster. Even if there was a small chance that you may leave a toe or two behind through inattentiveness. 

  
  


And then, as one might expect from the very beginning of this whole exercise, it happened.    
Soldier came barrelling through a window, misjudged the severity of a turn and collided with Merasmus and knocking them both to the floor. Jars of various potion ingredients shattered around them, leaving the sorcerer automatically lamenting how much restocking he would have to do, and distracting him from the very real weight atop him. 

 

But when he noticed… by all the old demonic deities and the new, he  _ noticed _ . 

 

Seated atop his lap, so close that Merasmus could feel the muscular chest expand with every elated, booming laugh, was Soldier. It was such a cliche moment, the kind that seemed so contrived by some unseen guiding hand, that neither knew exactly how to address the situation.  Naturally, Soldier, in his extreme tact broke the tension for them both. 

 

“Merasmus! If you simply wanted me to ride your broomstick, you should have said so, although I appreciate you enchanting the actual broom for me!” Jane grinned, blue eyes staring directly into the sorcerer’s eyes as he slowly moved his hips. Indicating he was quite aware of what his presence was doing to Merasmus, and indicating his interest in taking that, uh, particular broomstick for a spin.

 

“What?” the sorcerer finally managed, confused and trying to retain enough blood in his brain to process the situation. Of course he’d known Soldier was aware of his interest, and they seemed compatible based on how well they cohabitated, and of course they were so comfortable that the occasional closeness or compliment was-... oh. His eyes narrowed, “Have you been flirting with me this whole time, and I, Merasmus, failed to notice?”

 

“Yes!” grinned Jane, not at all put out to learn his efforts hadn’t been received as intended. He rolled his hips again, and Merasmus made a noise he wasn’t proud of. “Glad to know the intel has finally reached the appropriate  _ heads _ …” he paused, grin a tad too smug, “of your military unit.”

 

There was a long pause, as Merasmus considered the somewhat ludicrous situation in which they now resided; his moral dilemma easily resolved as he felt Soldier’s interest in pursuing the matter prod him into action. He tested the waters, curling a hand around Jane’s neck and drawing him in for a somewhat chaste kiss given the circumstances… feeling how it devolved into something far more passionate, more primal, as the seconds wore on. 

 

Disengaging for a moment, his romantic mood was being assailed by the rubbled prodding into his spine, Merasmus looked Jane directly in the eyes. “I think you would prefer a personal flying lesson somewhere softer, such as my room… where there are, coincidentally, various lubricants. If that is to your liking, Jane?”

 

Soldier was upright and heaving Merasmus into a bridal carry before the sorcerer could even finish. As the man began a steady jog to Merasmus’ master bedroom, the sorcerer decided he would take that… as a yes.

 

~)0(~

 

Hours, Days, Weeks, Months, Years… they did tend to blur together when one was with someone they cared for. Merasmus had thought himself above love, such a petty mortal joke that allowed them to propagate their species… and yet, even the most challenging moments with Soldier could be brushed away by their bond. 

 

At least, he had thought so… until the day Jane had returned from a flight, on an actual broomstick this time, looking as if he had crashed through several trees on the way back. Merasmus was busy checking for any serious damage -the man knocked teeth out like a professional boxer- he could heal, but Jane was too busy delightedly talking about… their… son?

 

There was a second, when Merasmus was genuinely concerned Soldier had stolen a baby.

 

A second later, he wished the man had.

 

Wrapped within the swaddling confines of Jane’s travelling cloak, was a small infant racoon. Where Jane had procured the dummy and bonnet was anyone’s guess. Speaking of the man, Soldier was beaming with pride at the newest edition to their… family.

“I was thinking of calling him Lieutenant Bites!” he says, delighted chatter fading into the background as Merasmus stared at their… son. Big black eyes stared back, and he could almost sense the degree of chaos this seemingly innocuous little creature would bring to their lives… but then, hadn’t he felt the same when Soldier arrived at the door all those many years before?

  
  


“Fine, but I will not be doing any night feeds…” he sighs, smiling despite himself as Soldier delightedly wraps himself around Merasmus to pepper his face with kisses. “Alright, alright, I love you too… yowch!” True to his name, their new racoon son… bit him.

 

~)0(~

 

Exhausted, and desperately wishing he could crawl back into bed alongside the veritable heater that was Soldier, Merasmus found himself groggily pacing back and forth along the length of his kitchen attempting to soothe the fussing baby Bites. True, they didn’t cry as human babies did, but he made certain noises when he needed something, and as of yet, Merasmus had not worked out exactly what tonight’s need was…

 

Not changing, not rocking nor a lullaby… not to be held, clearly. Perhaps Bites wanted his fingers? The little devil loved nipping them, after all. 

 

His rhythmic pacing was briefly interrupted as he stumbled over the remnants of their dining table, shattered by a rather ridiculous series of circumstances the day before involving a troll, two geese and a misdirected love potion. Indeed, all of the room but the benches seemed in shambles, but he could work with that, after all. 

 

There was a whistle as the flame sprites in the stove announced that the baby’s bottle was sufficiently warmed for consumption. Merasmus traipsed over and blindly groped for it, barely avoiding singeing flesh or robe on the hot metal top; yet finding the bottle of milk pleasantly warm, rather than boiling. He tests it on his wrist just to be sure.

 

Satisfied, he pulls up the only remaining item of furniture in the entire room and sits down. Carefully moving baby Bites into a better position for feeding, before offering the bottle; and feeling a surge of pure relief, as all new parents must, when it quietens the infant’s distress. 

  
  


Moments later, Jane shuffles in stretching and yawning, looking apologetic about having slept through Lt Bites fussing for his early-morning feed. “I’m so sorry-...” he tries, but Merasmus smiles and shakes his head.

 

“Jane Doe, you are lucky I love you…” he says. And, as Bites nuzzles closer with a contented sound, indicating he was full and ready to sleep again, Merasmus amended, “And our tiny racoon son.”

 

 


End file.
